


Striking Up a Deal

by Thorny



Series: Witcher Boys in Peril [4]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Bondage, Canon-Typical Violence, Drugged Sex, Dubious Consent, M/M, Minor Injuries, Monsters, Other, Prostate Massage, Sex Pollen, Tentacle Sex, Tentacles, Vines, Wound Care (via licking)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-23 12:48:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20008555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thorny/pseuds/Thorny
Summary: Iorveth makes a rash decision thanks to human encroachment on his Scoia’tael camp in Velen.  He supposes it could have been worse.





	Striking Up a Deal

**Author's Note:**

> Oh look, another one! Enjoy! Or don't. I'm just here throwing these poor schmucks at a randy leshen and seeing what sticks.

The Ancient Leshen slowly roused from its rest. A raven perched on a nearby low hanging branch and let loose a loud caw. The creature tilted its massive antlered skull at the bird. The raven gave another caw and the leshen creaked like an old tree caught in a strong breeze.   
It shifted and coalesced into a mass of wispy smoke and shot off into the dense forest of its territory.

Iorveth nervously flicked his single gaze around the unnaturally silent wood. He knelt next to an ominous totem of a deer’s bleached skull balanced over a wicker figure. It had a shining smear of fresh blood on its skeletal brow. The archer’s matching hand clenched around a spare bit of cloth to stem the bleeding as the Aen Seidhe sheathed his dagger.  
He knew summoning the direct attention of the totem’s owner carried a huge risk, however the price would be worth the safe passage through the wilds for his fellow elves. The humans grew bolder each day. His guerrilla tactics pushed the enemy to seek out their camps and their heads. Up until recently, they had been able to evade capture and stay clear of the leshen’s known haunts. His archers likely could have slipped through without notice, however Iorveth was hesitant to anger a creature as old and deadly as this one. 

Surely he had _something_ worthwhile to offer and they could avoid conflict on two fronts.

Iorveth shook himself from his inner thoughts as he heard a raven’s caw break the unnatural silence. Fight or flight instinct crawled across his mind but the elf remained kneeling, eye cast down to the forest floor as he waited. If he bolted now, he would only earn the creature’s ire.  
Iorveth’s reluctant patience was rewarded as the terrifying tall and lanky form of the Demon of the Forest stalked into view, pausing to cast its hollow gaze on the crouched elf.  
Iorveth swallowed before carefully glancing up. The leshen creaked softly, swaying slightly in an unfelt breeze. Its long, wooden limbs tipped in sharp talons stayed lax at its sides. He took that as an invitation seeing as he wasn’t being wrapped up in the crushing grip of deadly enchanted roots.  
“Lord of the Wilds and Keeper of the Forest,” the Aen Seidhe began in his native tongue, hoping the platitudes interested the creature, “I beg of you an audience.”  
The leshen tilted its skull to the side. An unseen raven let out a sudden, loud caw. Iorveth fought down the urge to flinch. The elf continued, slowly choosing his words to explain his Scoia’tael and their needs. The leshen seemed to listen - as much as something that cannot reply in any known spoken language can, at least. 

Iorveth paused to swallow against a dry lump in his throat before finishing with his offering and his head reverently bowed.  
“Please take of me what payment you require for this request.”  
The quiet worried Iorveth. He chanced a nervous glance up and barely resisted jerking back as the leshen had noiselessly approached to loom over the kneeling elf. It slowly extended a branch-like limb and curled a talon under his jaw, tipping his head back. Iorveth grimaced but didn’t resist. He felt something curl over his boots.  
The leshen creaked softly and tilted its head to the opposite side. A gentle sweet scent wafted under the elf’s nose and he furrowed his brow as he flicked his eye to find the source. Small, bright fuschia flowers popped open along the creature’s limbs, releasing little puffs of blue pollen. The cloyingly sweet scent deepened with each tiny cloud. Iorveth wrinkled his nose as his eye watered from the strength of the smell, vaguely aware the scent was doing more than just calming him.  
The leshen let out another low sound, plucking one of the flowers from its upper limb. Iorveth blinked as the creature tucked the plant behind his pointed ear. Confused, but not looking a gift non-maiming in the mouth, Iorveth accepted the token without compliant.

Iorveth’s silent acceptance seemed to be enough for the leshen. He resisted the urge to tug away as vines and roots slithered up his legs. Since his death didn’t seem to be in the cards, the elf warily wondered where this was leading, especially with the oddly calming pollen the creature was still releasing. But, if he resisted now, he worried the leshen would believe he was reneging on his offering.   
The last thing he needed was a pissed off monster capable of tearing him and his fellow archers to pieces.  
Iorveth swallowed an undignified yelp as the vines lifted the elf off his feet. Smaller tendrils wriggled underneath his clothes, shockingly cool against his fevered flesh. Iorveth hissed between his teeth. How had he missed this feeling creeping up? Perhaps the pollen had something to do with the sudden heat coiling in his belly. 

Surely he wasn’t _enjoying_ what the leshen and its enchanted plants had in mind for his payment… was he?

Alarmingly articulate vines caught the catches on his armor and slowly stripped the elf bare. He tried to ignore the rising mixture of fear and anticipation as each article was dropped to the forest floor. Roots curled around his splayed limbs and naked body, undulating distractingly along sensitive scars and lines of twitching muscle. He was silently grateful they left his bandana in place, though feeling vines writhe where he couldn’t actively look was still disconcerting.  
The leshen creaked and shifted closer, tilting its skull to focus its hollow gaze on the bloodied cloth wrapped around Iorveth’s hand.   
The elf jerked in surprise and a little pain as the leshen plucked the ruined cloth off, cupping the wounded appendage with a rough palm. A long, slimy black tongue slipped out from under the creature’s skull. Iorveth grimaced while the vines tightened around his arm. He braced for an assumed awful pain. The leshen bent down, swiping its tongue across the knife wound gently.  
Oh.  
That was not quite what Iorveth had been expecting. The slight tingling sensation that followed drove an entirely different shiver up the elf’s spine. The leshen took its time licking the wound clean, swiping the drying smears from Iorveth’s fingers unnecessarily intimately. The heat in his belly tightened its coils. The elf swallowed and prayed that the evidence he was enjoying this a bit more than he should would go unnoticed.  
No such luck.  
A thin vine curled up his thigh and deliberately brushed against his burgeoning erection. Iorveth shuddered and bit his lip, his eye fluttering closed. The leshen flicked its tongue along its captive’s self-inflicted wound one last time before drawing back, watching the Aen Seidhe‘s struggle with its empty sockets.

Several more thin vines slithered along his exposed skin, stroking and teasing everything they could. One of the vines snaked up his throat to slide against his bottom lip questioningly. Another vine slid along his backside, drawing a surprised ragged sound out of the elf. The one at his lips took advantage of the opportunity and pressed inside, wriggling against Iorveth’s tongue in a parody of an intimate kiss. He didn’t even think to try to bite the offending intrusion.  
The leshen lifted a hand, silently commanding more of its enchanted living bindings to wrap around its captive. It encouraged them to further tease and excite, drawing reluctant pleasured sounds from the elf.  
Another shift, then Iorveth had to swallow a low sound around the vine in his mouth as the roots repositioned him and bared his exposed, splayed body to the leshen’s hollow gaze. He averted his own. His cheeks were on fire. His jutting length twitched without the elf’s permission. The leshen creaked softly, drawing the back of one deadly talon over Iorveth’s hip.  
“Mnf! Haan - ” he gasped, arching against the vines and roots slithering tighter around his body. A new, thin vine rose up between the elf’s thighs, dripping with a slick mucous. Iorveth’s eye widened as the slicked vine rubbed up against his backside, wriggling pointedly until it breached inside. The elf choked on a moan before the vine in his mouth freed itself with an obscene wet pop. 

The captive didn’t get much reprieve however.

His head fell back as the vine inside him thrust deeper, pressing up against some hidden spot that shot stars across Iorveth’s vision. The leshen tilted its skull as it watched, silently orchestrating the rest of the slithering roots into a frenzy of teasing their captive to distraction.  
Iorveth cursed in his native tongue. It had been so long since he had been touched intimately by another, and here he was a twitching mess from pleasure that was quickly becoming too much. A second thin vine wriggled its way inside him. He moaned helplessly as it twined with the first and thrust faster and deeper.  
The elf couldn’t stop the shudder wracking his body as yet another new vine slithered up his splayed thigh and finally, _finally_ wrapped tightly around his erection.  
“Gnk - !” Coherent thought escaped Iorveth from the combined efforts of the vines thrusting and rubbing and twisting and slithering…

The leshen loomed, betraying no emotion on its featureless skull as it watched its captive writhe against his tightening bindings. It finally took some pity on the Aen Seidhe and raised a taloned hand to silently command its enchanted plants to double their efforts, dragging more ragged sounds from the elf. Incoherent pleadings in his native tongue. Moans. Gasps.  
The vines inside Iorveth undulated with each hard thrust, pressing against that deep spot over and over again while the vine wrapped around his length squeezed. 

The elf’s entire body went rigid as he screamed his release to the darkened forest.

Iorveth reluctantly roused his exhausted body some hours later - he wasn’t sure of the exact time, the forest was always dark in Velen - clutching at his pounding head. His fingers brushed against something tucked in his hair. The elf tugged it free and stared dumbly at the wilting little fuschia flower sitting in his palm.

Well.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed, please check out the rest of the 'series' for more one-shot Leshen smut with other boys from the Witcher!
> 
> I also adore comments! Even if its to tell me how horrible I am for writing these~


End file.
